


From One Tool To Another

by goldenteaset



Series: Swapping Fates [7]
Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Servant Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5583208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Are you here to kill me?' She doesn’t sound worried.</p><p>'Was my arrival anticipated?' It’s an ominous feeling.</p><p>'No, not really.'</p><p>'I see. To answer your question: Not at present. I have no Master, and thus no order to fulfill.'</p><p>'…Then you will vanish soon.'</p><p>'Unfortunately.'</p><p>Silence lingers for a long moment. Then Einzbern laughs sadly and turns her head toward him.</p><p>'It appears we’re in similar situations. I’m going to die soon too.' She cocks her head to one side; her long hair flows across the armrest like a waterfall. 'In a situation like this, don’t you think we should chat a little, from one tool to another?'"</p><p>In which through unfortunate circumstances, Assassin finds himself without a Master, hunting for the Holy Grail on his own. He makes an unexpected find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From One Tool To Another

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! May you have much better luck than Assassin in 2016. :D 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/Zero.

Assassin smiles wryly at the fog that surrounds him—in a room this dark, such camouflage is redundant at best. He crouches in the circle that reeks of drying blood and listens for movement. He hears a soft _creak_ and slowly cranes his head to the left. _That was a chair. And…_ He cups a hand to his ear. _…There’s a weeping child in here._

The smoke is receding quickly. As his eyes don’t need to adjust—he thrives in shadows—he easily takes in the scene: a boy bound hand and foot, crying in terror, and a redheaded young man sitting in a chair beside him like a hunter with his catch.

 _Now_ this _is a surprise._ Assassin looks from one to the other and back again, wondering which boy summoned him. _Either option would be interesting._

His once-over of the bound boy yields no Command Seals, but the boy doesn’t seem grievously injured either. He turns his sights on the young man and notes how _flashy_ he is: from his purple jacket to his bloodstained feet, the darkness of the room both shies away from and embraces him.

 _…And there’s the Command Seals on his hand._ They look like someone cringing from a blow, curled into a ball to shield their body. Not unlike the child beside the young man.

He sighs internally and gets to business.

“I ask of you: are you my Master?”

“‘Master’?” The young man looks blankly at him with pitch-black eyes before bursting into laughter. “We just met! Are you a demon on a job hunt?”

Assassin adjusts his mask. “Did you summon me _accidentally_?” The thought is a little humiliating.

“No, not at all! It was totally on purpose.”

“…Good. As to whether I’m a demon…I was feared in my time, if that’s what you mean.”

“Really? Cool! Hey, while you’re here”—the young man casually waves a hand over the struggling boy—“you wanna eat this kid?”

Assassin’s mood sours. It’s not that he _never_ killed children—sometimes they were witnesses—but to kill a child for food seems needlessly cruel.

Wordlessly, he strides over to the boy. He knows his appearance must be frightening, from the black skin-tight garb to his ghoulish mask, so he speaks soothingly.

“Don’t be afraid, child. I’m going to unbind you.” He pulls the ropes and tape-gag loose with a series of _rips_ , pleased that his strength has remained the same through the centuries. “Now, can you stand?”

The boy awkwardly gets to his feet, using Assassin’s shoulder as support with obvious reluctance. “Th-Thank you,” he says hoarsely.

Assassin nods. “Good. _Run._ ”

The boy does as he’s bid, racing past his captor on unsteady legs. Before the young man can reach out to grab him, Assassin is there, pinning the fool to the floor with a muscled knee on his struggling back. In the distance, he can hear a door _slam._

“The hell’re you _doing_ , Mr. Demon?” The young man looks at him disbelievingly. “I gave you a meal, and this is the thanks I get?”

“There is a method to murder, a _skill_ , and your education is pitiful.” Assassin unsheathes a knife from his waist.

“You said I’m your Master, right?” The boy looks at him with a madman’s smile. “So you _will_ e—”

Assassin’s earned his Class well. His knife gives the young man a second grin. Blood pools on the cold wood floor. As always, he feels nothing.

He wipes his blade on the corpse’s purple jacket and leaves the accursed place.

\---

Assassin is well aware that he has little time left, and no potential Master to ally with; he decides to search for the Grail with all his skills at his disposal.

Unfortunately, due to having little mana to burn his Noble Phantasm can’t be used. Fortunately, Zabaniya is a skill, not a crutch, and Assassin isn’t dependent on it. He takes mana from those who are near death, as other options would cause unwanted attention to be drawn his way. Any attempt to battle other Servants would lead to his immediate demise, so he performs reconnaissance.

He creeps about Fuyuki like a shadow, always listening, always watching. Wandering unseen across the city, breathing in the air filled with metal and smog—it’s new and nostalgic all at once. Through all the sensations, he keeps his ears open. From the bustling, gleaming inner city to the quiet outskirts, he wallows in gossip. Even the most absentminded child can notice strange things, and the rumor he keeps hearing is: _The abandoned mansion’s not abandoned anymore._

What better place to hide a wish-granting device?

\---

The forest where the mansion resides is old and deep, the kind that many unsuspecting travelers get lost in. The green leaves whisper like ghosts whenever the wind blows, and the gray bark tries to cut into his skin like starving jackals. He jumps from mossy branch to branch, and the leaves barely rustle. _There were forests like this one in my homeland, once. Are they still there, I wonder, providing cool shade, and wood for home and hearth? Or are the cedars bleeding in the flames of wildfire?_

When he reaches the mansion, he doesn’t look at the architecture; instead he notes the size and if there are people inside. Much to his annoyance, he finds that whenever he thinks he’s seen all the rooms, he finds three more. _The wealthy are still overcompensating, I see. At least the furnishings are appealing—wood and leather, yellow, brown and white, the colors warm the heart. And there are many surveillance cameras about; I must be cautious._

The people are rather interesting: three women and one man. The man and women with black hair and clothing are clearly assassins like him, the sort who blend into crowds easily. The man carries the burden of his trade carefully, with the weariness of a man who isn’t sure he wants to be here. The woman carries herself easily, and moves with the grace of someone who knows who she is and what she wants.

It’s a pity he’s not at full strength; he wants to see how the modern age has changed his profession. _Well, efficiency is still prized, which is a pleasant thing to see. The_ speed _with which these two arm themselves…! Once, they could have been my protégés._ He watches them in secret for a while from the window, as they stand in the war room and consult a huge map with quiet intensity. He studies the map too, just in case.

The second woman is clearly a Heroic Spirit, with blonde hair and jade-green eyes filled with the weight of kingship. The heavy pulse of prana that emits from her marks her as a Saber, and she seems always on the lookout. Assassin stays _far_ away from her. _In the state I’m in, she could crush me without batting an eye. I have better things to do than die so cheaply._

The third and final woman seems his best option when it comes to the Grail. He’s not sure _why_ exactly. She’s a Caucasian woman with long, snow-white hair and eyes as red as wine; she has pale skin like the two assassins. She’s garbed richly in a red shirt, a white skirt and black tights—he suspects she’s wearing the colors of her house. As she sits by the fireplace in the spacious living room she glows in the light and heat.

But what catches Assassin’s eye is _how_ she sits. She moves very slowly, gingerly, as though she isn’t sure where her body is in space. _It’s as if she has a great burden inside her, and one wrong move will injure it._ This, then, must be the Grail Vessel.

He waits until the assassins leave and the Heroic Spirit makes her rounds of the mansion. Once he feels she’s far enough away, he hides himself in the flickering shadows and observes her more closely.

The woman fidgets in the black sofa. “You must be Assassin,” she says softly, her soprano voice tinged with amusement. “My name is Irisviel von Einzbern—but you probably know that already.”

He doesn’t say anything—what _can_ he say in response?

“Are you here to kill me?” She doesn’t sound worried.

“Was my arrival anticipated?” It’s an ominous feeling.

“No, not really.”

“I see. To answer your question: Not at present. I have no Master, and thus no order to fulfill.”

“…Then you will vanish soon.”

“Unfortunately.”

Silence lingers for a long moment. Then Einzbern laughs sadly and turns her head toward him.

“It appears we’re in similar situations. I’m going to die soon too.” She cocks her head to one side; her long hair flows across the armrest like a waterfall. “In a situation like this, don’t you think we should chat a little, from one tool to another?”

“Tool?” Assassin folds his arms over his chest. “The Grail is the sole reason for the War in the first place; if you are its guardian, then aren’t you more than a mere tool?”

Einzbern’s smile is painfully sincere. “Not really. While I may be able to think, talk, and care for others…I am a Homunculus, not a human. I don’t mind that—I know what my goal is, unlike so many. You could say that I’m blessed.”

“Indeed. To have a goal to accomplish is a beautiful thing. And yet…don’t you wish you could see more of the world?”

“Of course! I’ve read books and watched movies, but that can’t compare, can it? I want to drive a speedboat, visit the Notre Dame cathedral, and drink ale at an Irish pub! But…”

“‘But’?”

Einzbern sighs fondly. “I’ve _been_ a lot of things, too. I’ve been called Princess, Madam, Mama, Iri…I learned Alchemy, how to drive a car, and I won a debate.” She laughs. “Well, my opponent doesn’t know that yet, but he will soon.”

“Should I be concerned for this man?”

“…I don’t think so. He’ll take defeat gracefully if it comes from me.”

From the tenderness in her voice, it's clear she holds great affection for this opponent. He wonders if it's the sad-eyed man in black. 

He can feel Saber’s presence move—before it was in the balcony, now it’s coming closer.

“What was the debate about?”

“What makes someone human.” Einzbern giggles. “It’s a funny thing to argue about, isn’t it? But it’s very important to him. You see…he treated me like a human, even when it benefitted him to see me as a tool.”

“He’s a good man, then.”

“Mm. I think so.” Her voice grows contemplative. “Perhaps he’s a good man because he carries so much pain inside him. He takes on impossible burdens and never lets them go.”

“If I may, I disagree. He’s a good man because he sees the value in others—and that causes him pain.”

“Because many people are blind to others’ worth…yes, that’s a possibility too.” Pause. “Assassin, what do you think makes someone human?”

He speaks without thinking. “Our will, our surroundings, and our fellow man.”

“Our fellow man…is that why you’re talking with me? To be human again?”

Assassin’s mind goes blank for a moment. It’s a question asked with a child’s curiosity, no malice or manipulation behind it. _And yet…it’s a cruel thing to say._ “You should phrase your words more politely. People could get the wrong impression.”

“Like what?”

“That you cannot tell when things are best left unsaid.”

“Oh!” Einzbern looks genuinely disheartened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Apology accepted.” Assassin’s lips curl into a smile. “And I assure you, I gave up my humanity long ago.”

“Why?”

He mulls over his words carefully. “To become part of a legend. ‘The Old Man in the Mountain’…that was my title, my name. I was not the first holder of it, but that didn’t lessen its worth to me.”

“It sounds very mysterious. It fits you!”

“I try.” He rests his hand on his knife. “Now, Lady Einzbern, you’re doubtless aware that your Servant is nearly upon us.”

Einzbern’s silence is answer enough. There’s a hint of sad amusement in the air.

“I had planned to take the Grail for myself, but that was only a pipe dream.”

“Not necessarily.” Einzbern sounds very tired. “When you’re killed in battle, you become part of the Grail—part of its power.”

“Really? Perhaps this wouldn’t be so cheap a death after all.” He stands tall and proud, feeling less defeated than before. “Allow me to show you the skill of the Old Man in the Mountain before I leave you. Perhaps it will give you a fond memory to cherish.”

“…That would be nice.”

The wood door bursts open, and Saber is standing there, radiant and ready for battle. Her eyes glow in fury as she charges forward. It’s a glorious sight, worthy of an epic poem.

He dodges her strikes, his body contorting like a snake. He moves like a dancer, his body well honed to this task. Saber’s equally graceful, her arms swinging her wind-clad sword like it’s nothing. Her feet match his—she steps forward, he backward. Her defenses are tight. He knows he’ll never make a proper hit. He aims to tire her out; circling her endlessly, an untouchable shadow—

But Saber has no patience for tricks.

She swings her blade in an arc, and a burst of wind _slams_ him into a wall. He’s stunned—and a moment is all she needs. The world spins and blurs.

His gaze rolls toward Einzbern, who’s standing silently by the fire. She’s illuminated in red and cast in shadow; despite the darkness he can see her hand resting against her chest. _Are you concerned for us? See, you’re more human than you believe._

The last thing Assassin hears before Saber’s blade pierces his chest is Einzbern’s soft cry of pain. Whether it’s for the Servants or herself, he cannot say.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated.


End file.
